The Surrender Clause

I stare at the file on my desk like it might bite me.

Vale Industries. Dominic Vale.

The name alone makes my pulse spike in a way that has nothing to do with professional anxiety and everything to do with the rumors that circulate through Manhattan's legal corridors like wildfire. Brilliant. Ruthless. Demanding. The kind of CEO who reduces grown attorneys to stammering interns with a single look.

And I'm supposed to negotiate a multi-billion dollar merger with him.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," my colleague Marcus says, appearing in my doorway with his usual impeccable timing.

"Worse. I've been assigned to the Vale deal."

His eyebrows shoot up. "The Vale deal? Sophia, that's huge. Career-making huge."

"Or career-ending," I mutter, flipping open the folder. The first page is a photograph—a professional headshot that somehow manages to be both corporate and devastatingly attractive. Dark hair swept back from a face that's all sharp angles and commanding presence. Eyes the color of smoke that seem to see straight through the camera lens.

Straight through me.

I close the folder quickly. "Mitchell wants me to lead the negotiations. Full autonomy."

"That's incredible. Why do you look like you're preparing for battle?"

Because I am, I think. I've spent five years building my reputation at Crawford & Associates, establishing myself as someone who doesn't fold under pressure, who keeps her cool when testosterone-drunk executives try to steamroll negotiations. I've never been intimidated by powerful men.

Until now.

The truth is, I know Dominic Vale's reputation extends beyond the boardroom. Six months ago, my friend Claire worked on a contract dispute involving one of his subsidiaries. She came back from a single meeting with him pale and shaken, and when I asked her what happened, she'd just shaken her head.

"He's not like other men, Sophia. He's... intense. Like he can see every weakness, every secret. It's unnerving."

Then she'd paused, a flush creeping up her neck. "And completely magnetic."

I'd laughed it off then. Now, staring at his photograph, I understand.

"I need to prepare," I tell Marcus, gathering the file. "The preliminary meeting is tomorrow morning. His office."

"His territory," Marcus observes. "Interesting choice."

"Power play," I correct. "He wants the advantage from the start."

"And you're going to give it to him?"

I meet Marcus's eyes, summoning every ounce of the confidence that got me through Harvard Law, through the gauntlet of proving myself in a male-dominated firm. "I'm going to show him that power isn't about location. It's abou...